


Kissing Scars

by Fancifullauren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, TW: Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:04:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fancifullauren/pseuds/Fancifullauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras gasped in surprise, and the reality of the situation hit the cynic like a ton of bricks.</p><p>Under the dark hair that lightly dusted over his hips and thickened over his thighs lay dozens of scars. Some were pale and barely visible in contrast to his creamy skin; some were pink and raised; others, which was most horrifying to Enjolras, were still scabs. Slowly, he turned his head to peer up at Grantaire with wide blue eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissing Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Response to an anonymous Tumblr prompt.

Enjolras was kissing Grantaire with a feverish, needy hunger that was not a far cry from the passionate speech that occupied his mouth mere minutes earlier. Now, standing in the abandoned back room of the Musain, the pair was free to do as they pleased without fear of the judgment of others. Hips grinded against hips, hair was pulled, shirts were discarded without a single thought. When the leader’s slender hand made its way past the waistband of Grantaire’s boxers, his pelvis bucked up and a drawn-out moan erupted from his throat.

Making his way down Grantaire’s torso, covered in a thick layer of dark curls, and then his slightly protruding abdomen, Enjolras relished the feeling of skin and hair under his tongue. When he was finally kneeling, he licked Grantaire’s straining erection through the rough fabric before slipping his fingers under the elastic and yanking down. So lost in the ecstasy of bring the god Apollo to his knees was the cynic that he failed to mention a very important detail.

Enjolras gasped in surprise, and the reality of the situation hit the brunette like a ton of bricks.

Under the dark hair that lightly dusted over his hips and thickened over his thighs lay dozens of scars. Some were pale and barely visible in contrast to his creamy skin; some were pink and raised; others, which was most horrifying to Enjolras, were still scabs. Slowly, he turned his head to peer up at Grantaire with wide blue eyes.

“Let me just –It’s not what you think – I can explain…” Grantaire stammered, his face mirroring the shocked expression of Enjolras, but with an added element of mortification.

“Why?” Enjolras whispered. Worry and dejection splayed across his face.

“It’s nothing, really –“ Started Grantaire.

But Enjolras cut him off. “ _Nothing_?” He demanded, his authority remaining even though he was currently in a submissive position, “This… this isn’t nothing, Grantaire. This is serious. ” 

Grantaire buried his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing to apologize for. Why would you do this to yourself?” 

The floodgates opened before the cynic had the opportunity to stop them. “It’s all just too much. I’m just so ashamed of myself, all the time. I’m a cynic by nature, I can’t help that; so when I argue, I just get cut down and told I’m worthless or that I’ll never believe in anything. I’m in so much pain right now. I’m in pain because I drink, so I drink to forget the pain. I’m ashamed of myself because I cut, so I cut to alleviate the shame. It’s so hard sometimes, Enjolras, when people are constantly pointing out all your flaws, and you just have to laugh and play it off as something you’re okay with, when you’re not, Enjolras, you’re just not and there’s nothing you can do about it and it’s all just too much.” By the end of the last sentence, he was shivering as the sobs wracked his entire body.

Tears had started streaming down Enjolras’ face. “It’s my fault.”

“No,” Grantaire insisted, “It’s mine.”

“No!” Enjolras spat, “It’s my own goddamn fault! I told you that you didn’t believe in anything. I mock you for your drinking and I cut you down whenever I get the chance.” His head collapsed forward, burying his face in the soft skin of his inner thigh. “I had no idea, Grantaire, please forgive me.” As he whispered, his lips brushed the skin. The gesture was so sweet, so intimate, that the drunk stifled more tears.

“I’m so sorry,” He continued, kissing a raised pink scar — “So, so sorry” — he kissed another right next to it — “I love you” — and then another — “I love you so much” — then moved onto a row of fresh scabs along his hipbone – “Please forgive me.” He punctuated each kiss with meaningful phrases, “I love you” being the one he repeated most. It was the kind of warm, intimate affection he had never before received, and he relished it, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall behind him. Every time an emotional shiver took his body and threatened to buckle his knees, Enjolras was there, holding his hips against the wall with strong hands.

When he was finally done, he looked up at Grantaire. He looked back down at Enjolras.

“I forgive you,” he murmured, reaching down to run a hand through his golden ringlets. The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable.

The blond licked a slow, languid stripe up Grantaire’s cock. “I’ve always believed in you,” came the barely audible undertone. His hands moved to cup his leader’s face, thumbs rubbing light circles along his cheeks.

Enjolras worked Grantaire into a withering mess, taking him into his mouth and bobbing, swallowing, sucking, with a feverish need. Grantaire’s moans were unintelligible with the exception of the shout of “Enjolras!” when he finally came. Enjolras stood up when he was finished swallowing and pressed himself flush against his lover. Instead of feeling crowded, Grantaire was overcome with the warmth of safety. Security. A feeling he had never before experienced so fully in his life; and yet here it was, enveloping him in a thick blanket of love – pure, accepting love – that he so cherished. It was when Enjolras finally pressed a kiss to his lips that he dared return the sentiment: “I love you.”

They walked home hand-in-hand, and fell asleep later that night in each other’s arms.


End file.
